“But I would like some lunch...and a chance to pick your brain, now that I’ve had a chance to form my own impressions of the case.” She grabbed her bag. “How about we just pick up some sandwiches and eat on the beach?”
They’d done that so many times as kids. Tossed a blanket on the sand. Stared at the waves, talked and dreamed. After Jill’s abduction, her grandmother had gone through a phase where she was almost hypervigilant. She hadn’t wanted to let Jill out of her sight. She hadn’t let her granddaughter go anyplace but to school and right back home and...
Jill had turned reserved and quiet.
He’d gone to her grandmother and talked to her. He promised her that Jill would always be safe with him. And the lady...the lady had actually trusted him. She’d let Jill go on walks with him. Go to the beach with him.
Start to live again, with him.
They grabbed sandwiches from the deli next door, and then he snagged a blanket from the back of his SUV. Keeping a beach blanket handy was standard operating procedure for anyone who lived in Hope. The sunsets were not to be missed.
As they walked along the sand, Jill gave him a quick smile, a smile that actually reached her green eyes and made them gleam. “Just like old times, isn’t it?”
Seagulls called overhead and the waves thundered as they hit the beach.
He stared at her a moment, and thought about the old times, the best times of his life. “Yes.”
Her smile slipped. “Um, here, let me spread out the blanket.” Jill eased it onto the sand, and then she sat down and he stared at her.
Jill was there, actually back with him. He was not going to mess this up. Hayden eased onto the blanket beside her and handed her one of the sandwiches. For a time, they ate in silence. He was far too conscious of her, beside him. The wind teased a lock of her hair and sent it dancing over her left cheek. He wanted to brush that hair back and tuck it behind her ear...but Jill had made it clear she didn’t want him touching her.
Damn unfortunate, since touching her was the main thing he wanted.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Jill suddenly said. Her head turned and their eyes met. “Do you know how rare it is to have two girls taken within such a short period like that?”
Yeah, he did. He wasn’t an expert on child abduction like she was, but because of her, he’d definitely done his share of research.
“The fact that the guy stayed here and took Christy after I escaped...it suggests that he was acting out a compulsion. That he had to kidnap and—”
“Murder?” Hayden cut in.
She nodded. “Yes.” Her gaze fell to the sand.
“There were never any other cases in Hope that fit his MO.” That had been the very first thing Hayden checked once he came back to town. “No abductions at all. After that one weekend, Hope went back to its normal 3.5 drunk and disorderly arrests a year.” He blew out a hard breath. “No more murders. No more missing children.”
“Just one hellish weekend.” She put her empty sandwich wrapper back in the bag and took a sip of bottled water. “It doesn’t fit. In all the cases I’ve studied, a one-and-done situation like this...it’s too rare. If the perp were following a compulsion, he would have needed to act again. Sure, there would be a cooling-off period but—”
“Whoa, whoa, hold on.” He balled up his own wrapper and tossed it in the bag. “A ‘cooling-off’ period?” Hayden repeated. “That sounds like we’re dealing with some kind of...of serial killer or something.”
“There are serial abductors,” Jill murmured. “It’s unfortunate, but it does occur. Most types of abductions are family abductions, but nonfamily abductions...well, there are different rules in place for those.”
Rules? Okay, now this was just making him angrier.
“If this were a serial abductor we were looking at, there would have been more victims,” Jill said. Her delicate jaw hardened. “The perp wouldn’t have just vanished, just—just totally disappeared off the grid.”
“Let’s back up,” Hayden directed. The waves rolled onto the shore. “Tell me what you believe happened to Christy, based on the report.”
“That tiny five-page report? The one that contained zero DNA evidence or crime scene analysis?”
A definite edge had entered her voice. “Yeah, that one.” He’d felt the same frustration that she was showing when he’d reviewed the material.
“I think the killer had done those same actions before. He knew how to clean up after himself. He knew how to make sure there wasn’t so much as a sliver of evidence left behind. This definitely wasn’t amateur hour.”
“That’s why you think we’re looking at a serial.”
“Her neck was broken. A personal, intimate death. That type of kill suggests that the perp wanted to have power over his victim. He liked the control.” She nodded. “That’s probably why he picked two young teen girls as his victims here in Hope—he thought we were weaker than he was, that he could control us both.”
“You’re profiling him.”
She rolled back her shoulders and finally caught that lock of hair that had been teasing her cheek. “I’ve taken some profile classes at Quantico, yes, but that’s not exactly my strong suit. You want someone who can get into a killer’s head?” Her lips lifted once again in a faint smile. “That would be my friend Samantha. When it comes to killers, she’s an absolute genius.”
Hayden found himself leaning closer to Jill. “You’re the one who saw him, face-to-face.” He’d just seen the back of the jerk’s head, his baseball cap, his dark shirt, his jeans as the guy ran toward the front of that old SUV. An SUV that had later been found, stripped down and abandoned, two towns over.
Her smile flickered. “I saw him, and I’m the one who should have been able to identify him. I know that.”
“Jill, that’s not what I—”
Sadness was heavy in her voice as she said, “I know Christy’s parents blamed me.”
His hand fisted on the sand.
“Did you know...they came to my grandmother’s house once?”
“What? You never said—”
“Her father had been drinking. Her mother was trying to keep him under control. He was yelling and saying that I could have stopped the killer. That I knew who he was. That it was my fault Christy was gone.” Her lips turned down. “Kept saying I shouldn’t be living when he was burying his daughter. That it wasn’t right. That it was my fault.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” He jumped to his feet.
She tilted back her head and stared up at him. “Because I thought he was right. It was my fault. If I could have remembered more about the guy, if I could have described him better—”
“Jill,” he cut in, growling her name, and then he reached
